


A Benediction For the Sundered

by AvaRosier



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:28:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2641535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There isn't a particular reason why the three have drifted together. </p><p>
  <i> It just is. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Benediction For the Sundered

There obviously wasn’t enough space for them to have their own rooms at Camp Jaha, so those of the remaining Hundred who didn’t have families would bunk together. Monty has his father. So does Miller. And Clarke has her mother. Yet they found themselves curled around one other on Miller’s mattress while his father was on duty.

He slouches against the wall, one leg bent and one arm casually tossing a ball of wire in the air. Monty lets himself be hypnotized by his long fingers as they curl around the makeshift toy. It’s a distraction— and a calming one at that. He almost forgets for a few minutes the cloud of grief that has clung to him over the past two weeks. First his best friend, then his mother.

Clarke’s humming softly under her breath, her head pressed against Miller’s hip, but face-to-face with Monty. She had been the one to curl her arm around his back, to pull him in close enough for their torsos to touch.  It’s more than nice, being with them like this, and Monty can’t help it if his cheeks are pink and his body is warm, especially since he’s got his fingers tangled in Clarke’s hair as she drifts away, the knuckles brushing against Miller’s thigh. He’s not jerking away, either.

They rarely talk when they’re together. What’s there to say, really? After everything…after everything it’s like they just want to cling to the familiar. They’re not in that place anymore. Camp Jaha might not be the dropship, but they have better supplies. An electric fence and heavily-armed guards.

Monty tilts his head up, redirecting Clarke’s warm breath to his throat. Miller had located another beanie and just like that, he had donned his old skin. (Although it may mean something that he’s kept the beard.) Monty rather likes his quiet, impertinent wit and the way he, just like he was doing right now, sometimes stares at them with dark, steady eyes. As if he were daring Monty to do something.

This time, Miller winks. “I’m bored.” He drawls, face deceptively relaxed. This declaration makes Clarke furrow her brows and blink her eyes open. Twisting her neck until she was staring at Miller upside down, she pokes him in the calf.

“Check my bag, I brought enough  _fun_  for all of us.”

Miller tosses the wires aside and reaches over to rummage in said knapsack. He stills. “Damn. Do I even want to know where you got your hands on this?” He withdraws a clear glass bottle filled with a dark amber liquid, shaking his head, impressed.

“Probably not.” Clarke shrugs. “It’s not as good as the stuff you’ve made, Monty, but it’ll do.”

Monty smirks at the two, rolling up into a sitting position. “’Course not. What are we waiting for?”

Those long fingers of Miller’s unscrew the cap and he takes a small swig before handing it over to Clarke. She allows him to tilt it against her lips and he doesn’t take advantage of it to give her more than she can swallow right then. Monty jerks his chin at the other boy, as if to say ‘go on’, and then he’s got liquid fire numbing his gums before rolling smoothly down his throat.

“Not bad,” he admits, as if he’s the utmost authority on hooch. “Only a hint of nuclear radiation, gives it that smoky taste.” Miller snorts, Clarke giggles. The latter has got to be the strangest sound Monty has ever heard out of her mouth. They pass the bottle around until Clarke is moving sinuously, perched on her lower legs, and combing her long hair into a makeshift twist on the top of her head that doesn’t stay there once she moves her hands away.

“My first name’s Nathan.”  He volunteers, watching them both through half-lidded eyes.

“Does this count as you giving us permission to use it?” Clarke asks.

“Depends. Are we doing this, or what?”

The first boy Monty had kissed had been named Krit. He supposes he’d always kind of known he wasn’t exclusively attracted to one gender. There had also been his crush on Emilia from his Earth Skills class. She’d had this long red braid he’d loved to reach out and play with as she sat down in front of him. She’d kissed him. 

They’d both died before they could feel the sun on their faces. There had been a few others, but then he and Jasper were in the Skybox. Until now, the closest he’d come to another human was when Octavia had pecked his cheek.

The alcohol is a warm weight in his belly, tendrils of gold spreading through his body and making his mind float. “Yeah, I’m in. Definitely so in.” And with that, Monty rocks forward and brushes his lips against Clarke’s. She was smiling, caught unawares, but she tiltes her head and returns the pressure. He’s never kissed more than one person at a time, so this was going to have to be an experiment. Pulling away, Monty faces Mill-  _Nathan_ , only to have those hands cupping his face and pulling him close.

Over the next few minutes, Monty learns just how kissing Nathan is different from kissing Clarke. Clarke is all about building intensity, constant contact, and noisy sighs. Nathan is a frentic whirlwind of depth. He has no clue what he is, himself, except hungry for it and shucking off his shirt in a hurry to escalate things.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Clarke that puts some order to their limbs. And, as always, they follow her. “Let’s take his shirt off”, she says to Monty, but hesitates with the hem clutched in her hands until Nathan gets the hint to remove his beanie.  Better. Monty sees the smirk on Nathan’s face even as he willingly raises his arms for Clarke to pull the material over his head. Monty reaches for her own top instead, sliding his palms up over her quivering belly as she follows the unspoken challenge in Nathan’s eyes all the way down to his lips.

She wins. Nathan lets out a low groan when Clarke bites down on his lower lip. Monty may be a bit on the shy side, but when he’s been granted license like this, he has no reservation about pulling Clarke back against his chest and divesting her of her latest shirt.  There was only a desk lamp illuminating the room, leaving an interplay of incandescent light and shadow over their bodies as they unsnap Clarke’s pants and help her out of them before staring at each other, unsure how exactly they wanted to do this.

Eventually, they just touch—muscles to soft breasts to bony shoulders to both soft and rough bristles of body hairs. Eventually, they just taste— lips to lips to throats to tongues to arching spines to biting to wet spots on the front panels of panties to erections. Eventually, they just stifle noises— the gasping sighs Monty makes when Nathan reaches into his underwear and pumps with just the right edge of pleasure/pain, the low curses Nathan makes when Clarke decides to swirl her tongue around the head of his penis as it spills out of his unzipped pants, and the too-loud whimpers Clarke can’t stifle when Nathan slides those impossibly long fingers into her panties and Monty decides to see how loud he can take her when he leans down to lave his tongue over a nipple.

Between the three of them, they have varying degrees of inexperience, so they don’t bother trying to get each other off simultaneously. So, when Clarke admits in an urgent voice that she’s close, Monty asks if he can taste her. He’s never done this, but she has no compunction about moving around until she’s straddling his head, Nathan’s arm curled around her midsection to hold her over Monty’s lips.

It’s wet and Monty’s always been good at figuring out how things work. At any rate, he lets Clarke tell him where she wants his tongue and when she wants him to focus his lips further north. She’s rocking against him pretty insistently when Nathan does something above that makes her gasp and jerk, so Monty takes that as his cue to close his mouth over her hooded clit and apply gentle suction.

She goes off between them like a live wire, arcing and shuddering. It takes a minute for her to come down, held up almost entirely by Nathan. When she backs away off his body, Monty sees the dazed look on her face as he wipes his lips. As far as first times go, Monty feels pretty damn accomplished. And then he sees the hungry look on Nathan’s face.

“How?” He asks him, his own erection probably as painful as Nathan’s.

How ends up being Clarke and Nathan double-teaming him, trying each and any combination of rhythms on his penis until they have him tensed half off the mattress, begging them to not stop.  Clarke leaves Nathan to envelop Monty’s erection in the warm heat of his mouth while she nips at the line of bone and muscle in Monty’s hip. He’s seventeen, he doesn’t last long. Relief breaks over him in waves, which he gives both to the boy bent over his waist and the girl closing her lips over his.

His heart pounds and a sweet lethargy settles into his limbs as Clarke pushes a practically vibrating Nathan back onto his heels. He’s completely naked, and Monty lets his eyes roam over the more pronounced  musculature and the dark, curly hair that leads a trail from his belly button down to the jut of his cock. Clarke meets Monty’s eyes and he sees something determined in the set of her eyebrows. He barely registers what she whispers into his ear before he’s kneeling behind Nathan and curling his arms under Nathan’s own, securing him in place.

Nathan glances at him and there’s the tiniest hint of amusement lighting his face. Monty doesn’t take it personally, and winks. He may not be brash or super athletic like some of the other boys (and girls) that had been in their first camp, but he’s strong enough to hold his own against Nathan Miller. Oh, he doesn’t doubt Nathan could break free if he really tried, which tells Monty everything and makes him once again in awe of the power they often give Clarke Griffin. Speaking of which…

“Keep your knees apart like this.” She tells him, and Monty just knows Nathan won’t disobey her.  _Oh god._

Her hair falls like a pale corona over his hips as she begins to work her mouth over him and Monty can only watch transfixed as Clarke tries to get as much in as possible, bobbing her head slowly but steadily. Eventually, Monty has to work harder to keep Nathan locked in position. It’s a thrill to watch, and feel, someone as composed and competent as Miller begin to shake and strain at the seams. The tendons in his neck move as he clenches his jaw and Monty can see the flare of his nostrils as he continues to fight against his own climax.

Clarke must pick up on it, because she sits back up and presses closer, curling a fist around his slick erection and continuing the rhythm where she left off. Monty leans over Nathan’s shoulder and kisses her softly, their earlier urgency gone. She doesn’t kiss Nathan, not yet. She refocuses on the boy between them—are they even boys and girl anymore?

Clarke is gentle and beseeching as she tells Nathan what to do. Monty barely hears the words over the roar of blood in his ears, the tunnel vision as the intensity of the moment closes on him.  _Let go, Nathan. We’ll catch you. It’s okay now._ Maybe Monty spoke, too, he’s not sure. But the expression of absolute agony on Nathan’s face melts away into ecstasy with a long, sustained groan. Clarke’s breasts shake as she keeps her hands working even as white fluid begins to coat them.

Finally, when Nathan’s weight relaxes against Monty’s body, he lets go of the other boy’s arms. There’s soft murmurs between them as they touch sensitised skin and kiss and hold each other together as if nothing existed outside these four walls.

But gradually, they disengage and quietly clean themselves off before dressing once more. There’s more than a few exuberant chuckles and sideways glances at one other as they take a few more swigs of the whiskey. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the dopamine levels after their orgasms, but the alcohol burns less now.

Miller has a slack look on his face, an easy smile for once, and Clarke has a look of wonder on hers…as if she’s learned something new about herself. Monty doesn’t want to go back to the room he shares with his father and Jasper’s parents, but even this respite can’t last.

Nothing ever could, not even on the Ark. All their relative peace had ever been, was an illusion.

None of them are sentimental as they wave goodbye to Miller, beanie securely back in place on his head, and exit the room. Monty lets go of Clarke’s hand at the end of the hallway and she turns away with tired eyes. Every time might be the last time they’re ever together. At least Monty will be able to walk under the stars before he sleeps in the dark with acute awareness of his missing limb. Keeping his lips shut to keep the rage and the grief and the screams for  _nothing_  from escaping. He dreams of his chest exploding with the force of it all, sometimes.

He misses his home.

And he’s not sure which one of the two he means.


End file.
